


Snare

by LysanderandHermia



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Breathplay, Crying, Dubious Consent, Dubious Ethics, Edgeplay, Handcuffs, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Kissing, Kneeling, Knifeplay, M/M, Mind Games, Multi, Objectification, Snark, Teasing, Threesome - M/M/M, Unsafe Sex, being a good boy TM
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:08:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23486584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LysanderandHermia/pseuds/LysanderandHermia
Summary: The one where there's someone more important to Jim than Seb, but only just.Thinly veiled excuse to get Seb double-teamed. Please mind the tags.
Relationships: Sebastian Moran/Jim Moriarty, Sebastian Moran/Jim Moriarty/Original Male Character
Comments: 3
Kudos: 22





	Snare

**Author's Note:**

  * For [poetofthefall](https://archiveofourown.org/users/poetofthefall/gifts).



> Hello, please mind the tags and enjoy! This was written for my bestest friend's 21st birthday gift. This hasn't been beta'd so. Sorry. 
> 
> There are implications that a character has had abusive relationships of one sort or the other with people of the same build as Sebastian. 
> 
> Sebastian is not given a safeword or a way out of the situation, so this is dubious consent at best. His life also gets threatened. 
> 
> Okay, if you're good with that, then have fun and stuff.

You open the door to the flat, swinging your duffel bag from your shoulder just as you hear conversation in the sitting room abruptly cut off. You’d only heard half a word or two, but you stifle a sigh as you lock up after yourself and stash away your things, stripping off your jacket while you’re at it and thinking you’ll make your scotch a double once you get settled in. One of the unfortunate fixtures of living with Jim, you discovered early on, was Dmitri.

You still have no real idea of who Dmitri is, apart from a short list of facts. He’s a doctor by trade; you’re pretty sure he occasionally does dirty work for Jim. He’s someone from Jim’s past, and it goes without saying, someone who commands a lot of respect from him. He’s trustworthy – Jim never tells you when he’s coming over and the guy has his own key to the place. There’s other stuff you’ve noticed, but nothing you can quite confirm. You _think_ that Jim and Dmitri are an off and on fling, but you can’t be sure. You’re also pretty sure that Dmitri doesn’t like you, but you still can’t fathom why. You’ve barely spoken to the guy in almost four years; he’s always coming when you’re going, or going just as you’re back. Sometimes, on occasion, Jim will text you and tell you not to come home, and there’s always two sets of dishes in the sink the next morning when you’re finally allowed back. To be honest, the entire cat and mouse thing is more than a little annoying by now to you, especially when Jim acts like you’re a nuisance when his friend, for lack of a better word, is around.

It should bother you more, you think, unlacing your boots and leaving them on the shoe rack and going in the direction of the now silent voices. If Jim _is_ sleeping with this guy, shouldn’t it be common courtesy to let you know? You and Jim, at least, you know, are a regular occurrence these days, and he’ll more often than not drag you into his own bed than your own. Then again, maybe that’s why Dmitri doesn’t like you. Four years is a long time to live with someone, and three’s plenty for being in whatever you want to call the relationship you have with your boss is, but from what you can tell, Dmitri’s been here for far longer. Maybe you’re in the way. The thought makes your stomach twist. If you were going to be in the way, Jim should have done something about that before you’d gotten so far in over your head. The only way you’re leaving now is with a bullet in the brain. Dmitri, whoever he is, isn’t going to uproot what you’ve worked so hard to get – Jim’s confidence.

“You’re supposed to be out on a hit,” Jim says dryly, the moment you come around the corner. Sure enough, he’s kicked back on the sofa, feet propped on the coffee table, and Dmitri is settled against the armrest, feet resting in Jim’s lap. The whole thing looks horribly domestic – or it would, if Dmitri hadn’t gone so tense the moment you rounded the corner.

You shrug, “Got done early,” and watch as Jim scowls and checks his phone for the time, and respond before he can even start to argue, “The guy showed up an hour early for his own meeting. The cleaning crew had plenty of time to take care of things before his buddies showed up. Probably think they got stood up. Figured it would be even easier for you to get into their pockets now.”

Jim hums in thought, before sitting back, swirling the remains of his drink, “I don’t like it when you go off script, Sebastian, but at least you weren’t an idiot about it.”

You raise an eyebrow coolly at him, “Am I usually?”

This gets a laugh, and you roll your eyes at him as Jim chuckles, though Dmitri only adjusts his glasses and remains stony faced. You meet his gaze for a moment before he looks away. “Seb, don’t line them up for me like that,” Jim says, before gesturing at you, wiggling his drink, “Get me another and then bugger off, we’re busy.”

Even as you take the tumbler, you frown, “I just got back,” you hear yourself say, already regretting it. Jim doesn’t like it much when you sound like a petulant child. Sure enough, his eyes narrow the next instant, and his lips flatten into a scowl, and you huff an annoyed sigh and head for the kitchen to make him a new drink, making yourself one while you’re at it.

You can hear some conversation resume, though it’s muffled and quiet, pitched low to be hard to be heard. Despite yourself and knowing it’s a bad idea, you try to listen in as you head back, but you don’t hear much, just Dmitri saying something in an annoyed tone to Jim, who’s response is a laugh, and, “But a _cute_ dog, right?” It doesn’t make any sense, so you step back into the room and hand Jim his drink, barely keeping yourself from slopping half of it over him. Maybe you’re just in a bad mood, or maybe it’s this whole stupid, _not-being-able-to-talk-around-Sebastian_ game they’ve got going, but you’re sick of it, sick of years of this.

“What about a cute dog?” You ask, voice mockingly innocent, as you take a sip of your own blessed scotch, watching as Dmitri pretends to sip from his empty glass, “Get you a refill, Dmitri?” You ask next, staying where you are and watching as Jim fully scowls at you.

“Watch it,” Jim says, tone unamused, “We’re having a private conversation.”

“Yeah? I live here too.” You want to say that it feels like they’re talking about you behind your back and that it rankles, but you’re already in dangerous territory with Jim, so you stand your ground instead.

“I told you to bugger off, Sebastian,” Jim says, and his voice is dark. Normally it would send a thrill through you, but right now, you’re just annoyed. You feel pushed out of your own house and you feel like a nuisance when you know you’re not.

Dmitri’s legs slip off of Jim’s lap, but before Jim can stand, Dmitri does first, slowly pushing himself up, empty glass still in his hand as he gives you one of the first long looks he’s ever given you. His glasses glint in the light in a way that obscures his expression for a moment, and also in a way that makes you think he definitely practices in the mirror (much like some of Jim’s expressions; no one can pull off some of those without practicing first). “No refill,” he says, with a tight smile, though he tosses his empty glass your way and you have to scramble to catch it and keep it from shattering all over the floor.

Before you can snap at him and ask him what the fuck he thinks he’s doing, he turns to look at Jim, gesturing to you like you’re not even there. “Like I said, Jim, I’m not a very big fan of your dogs.” Ah, so they _were_ talking about you behind your back. “Especially when they refuse to listen to _you_ , of all people.”

It suddenly occurs to you that Dmitri might actually be able to remove you from your current situation, right before it registers that Dmitri had called you a dog. A cute dog, apparently, but still a dog. “Ex _cuse_ me?” You say, indignant, stepping forwards angrily. Dmitri’s eyes flash in warning, but he takes a fast step back instead, away from you, shoulders hunching for just a moment before he straightens them. “You’ve hardly said three words to me for the entire time I’ve lived here, and you,” You spin, jabbing a finger at Jim, who blinks up at you with that stupid expressionless mask he paints on his face when he wants to be unreadable, “Have hardly given me any information on who this fucking guy thinks he is. He has a _key_ to the house I live in, and I don’t even know his last name!”

You breathe for a moment, before Jim stands up smoothly, and even though he’s almost a head shorter than you, he commands the room, as always. Maybe you shouldn’t have just said all that. Or threatened the only other person that has more pull with Jim than you. Something in Dmitri’s face has faltered, though, at your words, and it’s a small triumph, even as Jim backhands you across the face. You stare at the wall where your head snapped to the side, and you breathe evenly through your nose. “You don’t get to yell when Dmitri’s here,” he says, simply, and you grind your teeth together, incensed, but remembering this time, to keep your mouth shut. Almost.

“What _do_ I get to do when Dmitri’s here? It seems to be ‘not existing’.”

You feel Jim’s fingers grip your chin tightly to pull you back to face him, “Clever, aren’t you?” Jim says dryly, before turning your head slightly to look at the red mark on it, “Dmitri here doesn’t really like you, though it’s not your fault. To continue with the dog metaphor, he’s had bad run ins with larger dogs like you before. Doesn’t feel safe around them.” He turns, looping an arm around your shoulders to smile at Dmitri, who you notice, won’t look at you. Does he feel bad?

“Not sure what the point of this is, Jim, it’s not going to change anything. I’ll come back by some other time.” Dmitri bends to grab his coat off the back of the couch, but Jim huffs, and leaves your side to put a hand carefully over Dmitri’s. They share a long look, then Dmitri sighs and sits back down, watching you warily, arms folded over his chest.

You haven’t moved since Jim left, and he seems pleased by this, reaching up to pat your cheek firmly where he’d slapped it a minute ago. “See, Sebastian, this is always the issue with my bodyguards. Dmitri and I have had this argument for a long time, it’s not just _you_. I like my live in ones big and strong, but I also like having Dmitri around, and if he doesn’t feel comfy here at my house, well. I’m afraid I have to do some remodeling to make it cozy. You understand?”

As Jim’s been talking, your blood’s started running cold, and you can feel your muscles tensing up, ready to kick into fight or flight mode. Your gaze is fixed on Dmitri, this man you’ve known for years and don’t know at all, who suddenly gets to hold your life in his hands. You didn’t _do_ anything, that’s the worst part. “That’s why,” Jim says, with a smile, reaching up to thread his fingers through your hair, “You and I need to convince him otherwise. Prove you’re nice. That you’ll listen. That you’re a good boy. I’m rather attached to you, I admit it. You’re my best sniper, and you’ve been rather invaluable to me the past few years. I really do love the fun we have together.”

Panic is blooming in your chest. Damn the four years of loyal service then, is it? Jim can’t see the look on your face right now, circling you as he is, but Dmitri sure can, and you close your eyes, taking a deep breath. “He looks rather upset,” Dmitri says, after a moment, and you frown, opening your eyes again to glare at him, before Jim turns your face to his and searches it. “That’s new,” You hear Dmitri murmur to himself, but you force yourself to keep your eyes locked on Jim. After a moment, he leans up to give you a kiss, long and slow and gentle, just how you like it. When he pulls away, he smiles at you, eyes soft and smile genuine. You’re not sure if this is a game or life and death. Maybe it’s both.

You’re ready for it, in some ways, when Jim makes his first move. You knew he was going to tell you to do something, but you weren’t sure what it would be. This is easy, though, you think, dropping to your knees as Jim orders it, fingers twisting painfully in your hair, closing your eyes again. It’s better than having to watch Jim shoot you, you think. As if reading your mind, you hear a soft laugh from above you, and a warm hand in your hair, ruffling it and soothing the spots where your scalp stings. “I’m not shooting you, ‘Bas, I just want you to sit there and be still. You can do this, it’s easy. Just do what I say.” You open your eyes and look up at him for a long second, then nod tightly. You’re still tense, but fine. Okay, he’s right, you can do this. Kneeling isn’t the worst thing, and it’ll give you time to calm your racing heartbeat.

You watch as Jim leaves you and feel strangely hollow as he moves to sit back down next to Dmitri, reaching out and squeezing the man’s hand. “Dmitri and I were talking before you got home, about what we were going to do tomorrow afternoon together,” he shoots you a look, one that you know rather well, then turns his gaze on Dmitri, and smiles at him, “I was thinking, we could do them tonight instead, and take things nice and slow,” he says, and you swallow. You’re pretty sure you know where this is going.

Dmitri glances between you and Jim a few times, raising an eyebrow, “You want to…” he trails off, reading Jim’s gaze for a long moment, then turning back to look at you again, an interested, slow smile spreading across his face. “I see.” Something in Dmitri’s gaze is eerily familiar to you, and you recognize it a moment later as one Jim wears. “What if he moves?”

The look Jim gives you is equal parts sweet threat and dark promise, and despite the tense situation, or maybe, because of it, it goes straight to your cock. “He’ll be in a world of trouble. You know the rules, Sebastian.” And then, as if that’s it, (and uh, no, you don’t know any of these rules he’s talking about) Jim pretends like you don’t exist anymore.

You watch as Jim leans in close and murmurs something against Dmitri’s ear, watch him giggle in response. You get a fleeting moment of eye contact with Dmitri as Jim dips his head to press open mouthed kisses along his chin, and watch as a flush spreads over his cheeks. His eyes flutter closed a moment later when Jim reaches his throat, and then you’re watching the two of them press against each other on the couch. Well then. At least you were right about them being a thing.

It’s not that you don’t like being a voyeur. Most of your job involves watching people but never interacting directly yourself. It’s just that… well, Jim is a _sight_ like this, hair soft and raked through by fingers that aren’t yours. He’s got one hand under the hem of Dmitri’s shirt, the other languidly draped over one of the man’s shoulders, and Dmitri…

Dmitri’s watching you. He keeps turning his head to watch you, moving as Jim moves, as if reading your expression and body language. It suddenly strikes you that Dmitri is smart and calculating if he’s friends with Jim, and probably just as dangerous. It sends a shudder up your spine, and you’re not sure if it’s from thrill or fear. Maybe Dmitri’s got it figured out – he doesn’t have to be as outwardly intimidating as Jim, _because_ he has Jim to do some of those things for him. You’d be impressed if your life wasn’t on the line. As it is, you’re torn between feeling vengeful, sour, and turned on. It should be you there, with Jim’s hands on you, for having done a better job than you were tasked to do, to be rewarded for it.

Instead, you stare Dmitri down, clenching your jaw and trying to stifle the very real involuntary reaction of your pulse spiking as Dmitri’s hand slips down to press up against the fork of Jim’s legs, of watching Jim get turned on by someone else, watching his eyelashes flutter and his hips roll. You think about shifting to alleviate some pressure, but think better of it, remember the tightness of Jim’s hand in your hair. Okay, stop, unhelpful. You bite the inside of your cheek and stay still, just trying to breathe. You should be upset, you think, Jim has been implying monogamy to you for years but all this time has been sleeping with Dmitri. You must be more fucked up than you last checked, because instead, the thought is rather hot.

After several minutes, though, the seam of your jeans is really starting to be uncomfortable against your erection, and you finally shift just slightly, to take the pressure off. Even though Jim’s got Dmitri on his back along the couch with his shirt rucked up by now, mouthing at a nipple, Dmitri’s gaze is immediately on you, and you freeze as he tenses. Jim notices a moment later, looking up to Dmitri’s face, then turning to look at you. He gives you a slow, filthy once over, then smirks, turning back to Dmitri. “He’s got an erection, he’s not about to jump you,” he says, so casually that your dick throbs again. You really need to find some new kinks. Probably.

Dmitri’s stupid pretty face, flushed across his cheeks, is still turned towards you, and without thinking too carefully about the consequences, you offer up, unable to help from shifting again, just a bit, “You could just handcuff me and be done with the worry,” you say, trying to imitate Jim’s dry tone from earlier. Maybe then you could move on your beginning-to-ache knees without Dmitri panicking. Dmitri looks thoughtful, something he really shouldn’t look with Jim’s fucking mouth on his neck and hand sliding down his side, thigh pressed up against the fork of his legs. You hear Jim let out a soft ‘oooh!’ of excitement, and frown at the back of his head.

Hauling Jim off of him seems to be hard work for Dmitri, because Jim’s doing everything he can to make it both frustrating and arousing, but eventually Dmitri gets them sat up, and nods at Jim, who stares back blankly. Dmitri articulates, voice a bit rough on the edges. “I like his idea,” he explains to Jim, who blinks and then grins like a cat with cream, “Handcuff him.”

“I’ll be right back, then,” Jim replies, slipping off of Dmitri’s lap and leaving a lingering kiss, before disappearing further into the flat. You keep your eyes on Dmitri, wait until he realizes the two of you are alone together, and that he was the one to put you both in that position.

You can tell the exact moment it happens, because Dmitri’s eyes fall back onto you and he goes stiff, eyes flashing to where Jim stows one of his handguns under the coffee table. You very, very carefully, make sure to not move an inch, just breathe slowly. No need to get shot because Dmitri’s jumpy as shit. He watches you for a moment, then shifts to be sitting more comfortably on the couch, wary. “You’re not trying to kill me,” he says, after a moment, and you can’t help but smirk at him.

“Nope,” you respond, sounding cheery. If you were stupid enough to do that right now, Jim would _definitely_ kill you, and the longer this goes on, the more you realize – you just have to convince Dmitri that you’ll do what he says, or what Jim says. You have to keep from being impulsive. It’s going to be a nightmare, but doable.

Dmitri just raises a disbelieving eyebrow. “I can have you killed,” he says, the way Jim says things when he knows they’re fact and no one else has caught on yet. You swallow, licking your lips, and Dmitri’s eyes drop down to the motion, something in his expression shifting.

“Not sure what happened between you and other people that _look_ like me, but they’re not me,” You say, after a long pause. “And I’m not moving because Jim told me not to.” You watch some sort of internal conflict shift through Dmitri for a long moment, and take a moment to study his face. Thick rimmed glasses that are slightly askew, dark hair and eyes, slim, a wicked look on his face, and… okay, yeah, you’ve got a type in men, it seems.

“Come here,” Dmitri tells him, voice low and soft, “On your knees.” He seems a little breathless, and you try to figure out if it’s from the excitement of the situation, or if maybe the thrill of having someone three weight classes above him at his beck and call is starting to get to him. Either way, you don’t move. You know a trap when you see one. Jim told you to listen to _him_ , not to Dmitri. Dmitri’s eyes narrow sharply, and you almost give in when he adds, voice impressively full of threat, “ _Now_.” But you don’t. You stay put.

Your reward comes almost immediately as Jim reenters the room, and you lean into Jim’s side from where you sit as rough fingers rake through your hair again, tugging pleasantly, “Aw, Basher,” he says fondly, and then his grip goes painfully tight and you wince as he tips your head back to take a look at you, “Why aren’t you listening to Dmitri?”

“You said to listen to you. You didn’t say anything about Dmitri,” Your tone feels level, but you’re a bit frustrated again. You can’t be expected to follow the rules if no one’s giving you them. You think about saying so, but Jim pulls on your hair so hard you have to raise yourself up out of your sitting position, kneeling up on the floor to avoid having a chunk of hair pulled out. You reach up to grab hold of his hand, involuntary tears pricking at your eyes, but freeze as something cold and sharp is pressed to your throat. Your eyes fly open to stare up at Jim, who’s watching impassively from above you and you think for a moment that maybe this is what seeing God looks like.

You want to cry. If you’ve already failed, then you didn’t have the trust you thought you did with Jim, and it hurts worse than anything physical he could do to you. Jim presses the knife harder against your throat. “Get your hands off me, Sebastian,” Jim says, voice blank of anything you can use to figure out if this is going to be your final few moments or more of the game. Your arms drop immediately to your sides, and the threat of the knife lets up slightly. Your breathing has deepened and evened out, and your body feels electrified. You can feel how hard you are, and know Jim and Dmitri can both see it.

A small sound escapes your throat, making Jim laugh. “Frustrated, darling?” Jim asks, resting the blade casually against your throat. It feels like another trap, and you don’t trust your tone of voice if you respond, so you glare at him, and stay quiet. He sighs, and taps your cheek with the knife. “You look quite a sight right now, though. Filthy, looking like that, an inch away from the end of your life.” He looks to Dmitri, who you’d forgotten about for the moments the knife was against your throat, and you follow his gaze, mouth going dry at the sight. Apparently you’re not the only one turned on by violence and threats, because where Dmitri had looked sinful before, he now rivaled Jim himself when he was in a mood. He was palming himself through his trousers, legs spread wide, shirt mostly unbuttoned from Jim’s earlier work. His eyes were almost black.

You feel the knife leave your cheek and the hand in your hair let go, and you fall forwards onto your hands and knees for a second to catch your breath. Jim takes an arm and you feel cold metal circle your wrist, but you haven’t recovered enough from the shock to do more than straighten in surprise. Jim takes advantage, because of course he does, and your other wrist is secured before you can react. You take a deep breath and remind yourself that Jim will press the key into your palm in a moment and it’ll be fine, because you’ll have a way out, but it doesn’t come. Instead, Jim taps your cheek with the knife again, and gestures. “Go on, then, Dmitri asked you to go to him. Listen to him.”

You stare up at Jim, mouth twisting. It’s not that you don’t want to go to Dmitri, if you’re honest with yourself, it’s because you don’t have a way out of the cuffs. He pets your hair, “You’re supposed to show Dmitri you can do as you’re told,” Jim reminds you, a bit firmly, and you fight down the second bout of panic as you realize you’re not getting your safety net.

Swallowing, you slowly crawl forwards to Dmitri, who’s been watching the entire exchange silently. Just as you get to him, you overbalance and start to fall sideways, but he reaches out to steady you. It’s the first time he’s ever touched you, and you both stare at each other for a long moment. Slowly, he leans forward to press his mouth over yours, moving hesitantly, and you’d be annoyed at the timid gesture before you realize it’s for you, giving you time to turn your head if you want. It’s hard to know in that split second what you want, if you want to pull back from Dmitri, who you don’t owe _shit_ to, or if you want to give in and just see where the fucking night goes. It’s not like you have anything to lose right now, right? You’re already rendered helpless in your own living room with two men that both have the power to end your life.

So you kiss back, your wrists twisting in the cuffs, because it’s distracting and upsetting at first, and then, after a minute, because you keep trying to reach up to touch Dmitri. The simple inability to reach out to the man you’re kissing sends a jolt of lust through you, and you groan into his mouth, making him huff in amusement.

Something presses against your back and makes you jump, before you realize it’s Jim. Fuck, if it’s hard to keep track of things. He’s knelt down behind you and is pawing at your belt buckle, arms around your sides. You lift yourself from your slump to kneel up properly again for him, relying on Dmitri’s arms around your shoulders to keep you upright. Jim seems to be hell bent on grinding himself against your hands, and you grip at him as best as you can, feeling him through his slacks. He gets your belt undone and shoves your jeans down and out of the way once he gets the buttons undone, pulling you free from the confining space. The cool air hitting your erection makes you gasp into Dmitri’s mouth, especially when Jim tightly strokes from root to tip before letting go.

Dmitri laughs and you flush, realizing you _whined_. “Mm, I like you like this,” he says, slowly shimmying his own pants out of the way and pulling himself free. He’s a bit longer than Jim, and slender, the head dusky. Your mouth waters as you feel Jim press against your back again, propping his head on your shoulder to give Dmitri a look too. You’re not sure, but you think Jim winks at him, because Dmitri’s languid smile turns playful for a moment before his attention turns back to you. “I think you know what to do next,” he murmurs, voice shot with lust.

Jim’s erection, bare now that he’s back, presses against your hands again, and you grip him and stroke him as best as you can as he lazily ruts against you, mouthing at your neck. It feels nice to be the center of his attention for a moment, even if he is using your body to get himself off. Giving Dmitri a raised eyebrow, you respond, snark getting the better of you again. “You should probably spell it out for me,” and then you swear loudly, as Jim bites you harshly.

Amused, Dmitri reaches out to trace a few fingers down Jim’s shoulder, gaining his attention, and lounges back like he owns the house he’s in. Jim gets a grip in your hair and uses his body to bend you forwards, over Dmitri’s lap as the doctor grins and steadies his cock with one hand, and reaches out for your chin with another, “B,” he starts, “L,” you frown, “O,” Jim is chuckling in your ear, and okay, fine, you get the message. With a huff, you lean forwards and get your mouth around the head of Dmitri’s cock.

It’s been a while since you did this, Jim’s not usually one for oral sex, he’s much more of an active participant, but it’s not like it’s easy to forget how to do it. You slide your tongue around the curve of Dmitri’s head, then slowly work your way further and further down him until you feel him press against the back of your throat and then back off. Dmitri seems to be enjoying the attention and keeps raking his fingers through your hair like you’d seen him do while kissing Jim earlier.

You feel Jim tugging your trousers further down and shift slightly, having to concentrate hard to keep up what you’re doing with your mouth and coordinating which leg to lift as Jim gets you out of them entirely. You feel exposed now, just your thin tee on and nothing else, but Jim’s running his hands appreciatively up and down your back and thighs, groping and manhandling you. You wish he’d touch your cock again – having two sets of hands on you is really messing with your head and you’re _aching_.

Dmitri cants his hips slightly, pushing against your throat and you cough wetly, pulling back slightly. Clever fingers find their way into your hair and it takes a moment to realize it’s Jim’s hand. He presses you down, forcing you to take Dmitri down to the root, nose pressing against soft pubic hair. He works you up and down in long pulls, and you _really_ wish one of them would help you out because this feels insanely good, getting used like this.

Just as you’re getting into the rhythm of things, something wet slides down your arse and you jerk, trying to pull off of Dmitri at the same time as you try to reach out to stabilize yourself. The grip in your hair and the handcuffs prevent both things from happening and you panic a bit before you hear Jim, voice sounding more affected by the proceedings than you would have guessed, “Calm down, Sebastian, it’s lube,” he sounds annoyed, but amused, too, and pushes you down on Dmitri again. You can taste the man against the back of your throat, leaking steadily now.

You lose all semblance of awareness, though, when Jim presses a finger inside of you. The noise you make around Dmitri’s cock causes the man to swear, and fist his own hands in your hair, batting Jim’s hand away. And then you’re lost in the sensations of Jim stretching you open and the smell of Dmitri’s skin and his taste in your mouth. It could be moments or minutes that you’re there, torn between two things that seem to want all of your attention.

Jim pulls you out of it, reaching out to grip your neck and pulling you off of Dmitri, causing the other man to curse in protest. He leans forward, hand curling possessively around your throat and making you arch your back to be able to meet him at this angle as he pulls you into a kiss. His other hand slides over your hip and dips inwards, brushing lightly over your cock but refusing to actually touch you and making you stutter your hips uselessly as he draws away. “Jim,” you manage, voice shaky, “Fuck, please,” you hear yourself say. Jim smiles hungrily, and strokes you roughly once, twice, three times, then leaves you with nothing but air on your cock, oversensitive and understimulated.

Just as Jim’s done with you, Dmitri pulls you back to him for another filthy kiss, and you somehow missed the feeling of Jim lining himself up and just get the sensation of him sliding up into you, and you nearly howl. You _need_ some attention, damn it, but Jim is just settling himself against you, inside of you, draping himself over your back and running his hands down your arms to lace his fingers with yours, still locked together behind your back. Dmitri smiles at you, genuinely, and you blink at him, dazed, before he’s guiding you back down, sighing as your mouth closes warm and wet around him.

You wouldn’t have guessed the evening would have wound up like this, with Jim and Dmitri both fucking you at the same time. You feel drawn out and overfull at the same time. Every time you get a grip on what you’re doing with Dmitri’s cock, Jim does something with the shift of his hips to derail your thoughts and when you concentrate too long on the feeling of Jim fucking you, Dmitri’s fingers tighten warningly in your hair as you lose track of what your mouth is doing. It’s awful. It’s brilliant. It chases away everything except for existing in the moment, and leaves you feeling used in the best way. It’s something out of your fucking dreams.

Dmitri shifts somehow and suddenly it’s much harder for you to breathe around him, and you snatch little bits of air as you can, though you can’t help but wriggle a bit. His hands have left your hair but with how he’s shifted and with Jim fucking into you and sending sparks up your spine, you can’t pull back. Over the sounds of them using your body, you hear another sound, and you realize with a jolt and a painful twitch of your ignored cock, that they’re leaning over you to kiss each other. You wish you could see it, but as the seconds drag by, you really start getting more desperate for air, and your squirming gets a bit frantic. Jim’s pace has sped up and Dmitri seems intent on rutting against you and not letting you up and all you can do is take it.

Black spots are starting to appear when you feel Jim’s rhythm falter and the familiar sensation of him coming, and Jim stills against you, breathing heavily. You’re less doing anything to Dmitri’s cock and more trying desperately to breathe, mouth forced open and throat full. You start to pull off of Dmitri as he sits back but he holds you down, swearing, telling you to hold on, that he’s close. You can’t help it, you struggle, you need air and the handcuffs are keeping you from being able to get the leverage to push away from Dmitri, but Jim reaches around to grip your cock and you go immediately still, on the verge of coming right there. You know what he’s going to say before he does and make a small muffled noise around Dmitri, who curses again. “Do not come, Sebastian. We didn’t give you permission.” It saps your energy, that insane spike of pleasure, and you choke softly around Dmitri in response.

He takes his hand away; it’s all you can do to keep yourself from coming and not black out at the same time, but a few more thrusts against your mouth has Dmitri cursing again and you feel his cock pulse in your mouth, want to choke as he comes down your throat. He relaxes his grip around your head but you don’t have the energy to pull your head back at this point, even if it does mean air. He pulls you off and rests your head against his thigh as you choke down air and cough, swallowing a few times. Vaguely, you’re aware of Jim patting your flank like a spooked horse. You want to come so badly you could cry.

“He’s crying,” Dmitri says, voice hoarse but soft, reaching up to touch your face. Sure enough, you realize you’re crying, and take in another shaky breath.

Jim curls his arms around you from behind, makes you kneel up again, and you shut your eyes, shaking your head and making another small noise of protest. You can’t take any more, you did what they wanted, didn’t you? You hear him stand up, adjusting himself back into his pants and slacks, and try not to cry harder. It’s unfair, if they’re not going to let you come too. “I can’t, I can’t,” you hear yourself say, and Jim laughs softly.

“Can’t what, ‘Bas?” Jim leans down, holding your face in his hands and you look up at him, babbling. You’ll be ashamed of yourself later at how quickly they broke you down into a mess, but right now, it doesn’t matter.

“I can’t take it, I need something, please, I need you, Jim, I-“ he cuts you off with a kiss, like he did to start things off, slow and gentle.

“Ask Dmitri, darling, he’s the guest right now,” Jim says, and you laugh, half hysterical at this point, but you do as you’re told, gaze still fixed on Jim as you beg a different man.

“ _Please,_ Dmitri, please,” you say, and you’re gonna absolutely kill them both if they don’t do this for you now.

“Go on, then,” Dmitri says softly, somewhere off to your left, and you sob in relief. Jim chimes in an added affirmative, “You can come, Sebastian.” You stare at him and for a split second it feels like he’s going to just stand there and watch and make you come without touching yourself, without anything, but then he leans back down over you and seals his mouth over yours again, fingers sliding up to curl in your hair.

The kiss is languid and soft and such a juxtaposition to everything else that it’s hard to wrap your head around. You kiss Jim back though, as he swipes your tears away with his thumbs, hips hitching desperately in the empty air. You can feel your cock leaking, and then you gasp into Jim’s mouth as you feel another hand, slick with lube or spit, you don’t know and you don’t care, wrap around your cock. You groan against Jim’s mouth, and he smiles against you, one hand coming down wrap around your throat possessively again. Dmitri’s hand sets a smooth rhythm, and you let it build up in your gut, let Jim kiss you softly, let his grip in your hair tighten just a bit, let his hand at your throat press down just a bit, and then shaky moans you let out around Jim’s mouth are the only warning you have before your orgasm hits you like a truck. Jim doesn’t relent his slow kiss, Dmitri doesn’t stop stroking you until you’re flinching slightly away from the contact.

When you come to your senses a bit more, Jim is unlocking the handcuffs and you’re sitting in front of Dmitri, who’s smiling at you and holding you steady, his shirt stained with the remains of your own pleasure. Seeing you look, he shrugs and grins, reaching out to offer you a hand as you’re finally released from the stupid cuffs. You take it, staggering to your feet slowly, and look around, before finding your abandoned drink and knocking the whole thing back in two big gulps. You can see Jim and Dmitri exchanging a silent discussion through a long look at each other out of the corner of your eye, and turn to look at them both, raising an eyebrow. You did it. Right?

Dmitri smiles first, followed closely by a beaming Jim.

**Author's Note:**

> HAPPY BIRTHDAY BIRTHDAY BOY.  
> Sorry your 21st was in the middle of this coronavirus pandemic.  
> But, y'know, porn. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! Tip your writers with kudos and comments, I appreciate you all even though I rarely post things.


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